Teaching Skepticism in Kyiv and Nablus

Posted on April 16, 2026 by Peter

This is a new piece by me in Public Seminar: “Teaching Skepticism in Kyiv and Nablus.”

It’s partly autobiographical (discussing my visits to Ukraine and the West Bank in 2025) and partly philosophical. I argue that skepticism supports compassion and commitment, when they might seem opposed.

It begins:

In 2025, I gave lectures and classes in Kyiv, Ukraine, and at two Palestinian universities in the occupied West Bank.

I have lived a tame life, and these were relatively intense experiences for me.

As I had anticipated, Kyiv was heavily bombed while I visited, and I taught in a bomb shelter. In the Balata refugee camp in the West Bank—a zone of intensely concentrated poverty—I watched children literally playing with fire in the darkness, carrying burning garbage to build a make-believe lethal trap for the Israeli soldiers who frequently raid the camp later at night. Many of the walls are plastered with the photographs and names of armed young men (five to ten years older than the kids on the street) who have been killed.

I was invited to visit these universities by people who thought that their students might benefit from connections with a senior American academic. My best moment was when I demystified American financial aid for 65 Palestinian undergraduates who showed up to have office hours with me.

I offered a lecture in each location on a philosophical theme: how to think about happiness.

a crime against humanity

Posted on April 7, 2026 by Peter

Today, the elected leader of the United States said, “A whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again. I don’t want that to happen, but it probably will.”

Even before we learn what actually happens, it is clear that the threat was a crime against humanity that will permanently mark the history and the reputation of our republic.

These are the two elements of the crime of genocide in Article II of the Genocide Convention (ratified by the United States, with the signature of Ronald Reagan):

A mental element: the “intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such”; and
A physical element, which includes specific acts that include “killing members of the group,” “causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group,” or “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.”

Just as murder is a crime against a community, which removes an individual from the group, so genocide is a crime against humanity that removes a people or a civilization from the earth. And just as a threat to commit murder is a felony even if the murder is never committed, so a threat to commit genocide is a grave crime against humankind.

This President threatened genocide in order to force Iran to allow oil tankers to continue carrying the substance that is most responsible for global warming, after he had begun the sequence of events that caused the Strait to close in the first place.

As Americans, we might consider Karl Jaspers’ analysis of war guilt, which he presented to an very uncomfortable German audience during the winter of 1944-5:

Criminal guilt is attributable to individuals who have broken specific laws. It merits individual punishment. Donald Trump is guilty in this sense. It is a much harder question whether military personnel bear criminal guilt for following orders, particularly if Trump’s threat turns out to be mainly bluster. It is also doubtful whether Trump will be found guilty in any tribunal. However, Jaspers’ argument implies that Trump should be condemned, not that he will be.
Political guilt belongs to all members of a polity (a democracy or otherwise), because “Everybody is responsible for the way he is governed.” All Americans now bear political guilt for Trump’s actions, even if we have been organizing against him. This does not mean that we should feel personally ashamed or face punishment as individuals. In fact, to cultivate feelings of personal guilt or shame can be self-indulgent. Political guilt does mean that we have a responsibility to act in defense of humanity. We should also expect and be ready to pay a price for the isolation and marginalization of the United States.
Moral guilt: This is what one ought to feel as a result of being connected to an evil, even if one wasn’t personally responsible for what happened. All else being equal, it is bad moral luck to be an American citizen right now, because that makes us morally inferior to citizens of many other countries. Moral guilt requires penance and renewal. We must change the context so that we can be better.
Metaphysical guilt: Jaspers says, “There exists a solidarity among men as human beings that makes each co-responsible for every wrong and every injustice in the world, especially for crimes committed in his presence or with his knowledge.” This kind of guilt extends beyond the borders of the United States. I think one aspect of it is complicity. Billions of people will use (and will have to use) oil that will be cheaper if Trump’s threat works. Another aspect is self-awareness. We now know–if we didn’t know it already–that an educated and affluent population of free human beings can choose a leader who chooses to threaten another civilization with extermination. This is a fact about people. It would be convenient if it were only a fact about Americans, but we have learned that it is not. Our thinking about politics and ethics must be chastened by this reality about ourselves.

Prisoner’s Dilemma in the Gulf

Posted on March 13, 2026 by Peter

Although many people are using principles of game theory to analyze the Trump/Iran war and to predict the next steps, I haven’t come across an explicit model. Any model drastically oversimplifies reality but also serves to clarify assumptions.

The model that I present is essentially a Prisoner’s Dilemma. For each side, it is better to continue deadly offensive operations than to cease, regardless of what the other side does. Therefore, the model predicts that the war will continue (bottom-right box) even though both sides would be somewhat better off with a mutual ceasefire (top-left). That’s how a Prisoner’s Dilemma works.

The model presumes that both sides have the capacity to continue offensive operations–that the US won’t run critically low on munitions and Iran will retain drones, missiles, mines, and possibly sleeper cells abroad. To the extent that the US and Israel have a plan, it is to destroy Iran’s military assets so that Iran cannot choose to continue to bomb or lay mines. I cannot assess whether this is possible, but it seems doubtful. The recent reduction in the tempo of Iranian strikes may simply reflect a strategy of operating for a longer period.

The model is symmetrical, which is misleading. The Iranian leader, Mojtaba Khamenei, has already lost his father, wife, daughter, son-in-law, and 14-month-old granddaughter in a strike and could be killed himself. More than 1,000 Iranians (and probably many more) have died so far. Donald Trump is much safer, as are American citizens–presumably. On the other hand, Trump’s political fortunes are sensitive to exactly what happens in the war, whereas Khamenei and his team are trying to survive. For them, a difference in the length of the conflict or the number of casualties may be immaterial.

Another way that the model simplifies is by reducing the whole war to two parties. Israel is not shown. Nor are other major countries, such as Russia, China, Saudi Arabia, and others. Also, the two sides are shown as if they were unitary, but there are internal conflicts on both sides. In fact, each leader may care most about the struggle with his own domestic opponents. However, to some extent, that dynamic is captured by the outcomes shown in the model. For example, each side benefits domestically from being able to claim victory credibly, and each side loses domestically if it cannot.

notes from the West Bank

Posted on December 1, 2025 by Peter

I spent the Thanksgiving break in the West Bank (via Israel). I visited two Palestinian universities, Bethlehem and An-Najah. I presented at both institutions and met students, faculty, administrators, and alumni, hoping to create or strengthen relationships and perhaps contribute just a bit to Palestinian higher education. Collaborative relationships with outside colleagues represent “social capital” that can benefit an institution, and that’s what I wanted to offer.

In all, I met more than 100 Palestinians as well as two Israelis whom I admire. Thanks to kind and well-informed hosts in the West Bank, I also had the chance to observe significant aspects of the current situation there. My visit was brief; my observations are superficial. Nevertheless, my packed three and a half days in the West Bank left vivid memories that will take me a long time to process.

For instance, I recall the contrast between two scenes.

In the Balata refugee camp—a zone of intensely concentrated poverty—I watch children literally playing with fire in the darkness, carrying burning garbage to make a pretend lethal trap for Israeli soldiers who frequently raid the camp later at night. Many of the walls are plastered with the photographs and names of armed young men (five to ten years older than the kids on the street) who have been killed.

On the other hand, in a classroom at An-Najah, I meet with about 65 earnest and impressive students of disciplines from computer science and medicine to English literature who aspire to study abroad. For two hours (until a driver arrives to take me to Tel Aviv), they ask me questions about admissions, financial aid, different kinds of degrees, and how to prepare to be competitive.

I also vividly recall walking around the partly excavated archaeological site of Sebastia, formerly a palace and city where many Christians and Muslims believe that John the Baptist is buried. You step on scattered tesserae as you explore the hill, set in a classic West Bank landscape of olive orchards, scattered Palestinian villages and visible Israeli settlements, and military installations on the mountaintops.

Finally, I hear a sophisticated and nuanced conversation about strategies for improving gender equity in Palestine, addressing the importance of women leaders in civil society and government, the pros and cons of treating feminism as a distinct agenda, the relevance and limitation of legal rights, and—as one woman said—the pattern that men start wars and women pay the steepest price of war. I sense that this is a debate among colleagues who already know and respect one another’s views but who cannot quite agree—which is just how things should be in a university.

Trump, Modi, Erdogan

Posted on October 13, 2025 by Peter

I am flying back to the USA after a meeting in Istanbul with activists and NGO leaders from six or more countries. (By the way, I don’t think that all of them could have met in the USA because of our government’s visa policies and treatment of visitors.)

One of the many benefits of the meeting was to challenge a framework that I have been using which treats leaders like Donald Trump, Narendra Modi, and Recep Tayyip Erdogan as examples of the same phenomenon. These men are both similar and different, and it’s important to keep the differences in mind.

All three (it seems to me) are national narcissists, meaning that they believe their own country is the best yet disrespected (Cislak & Cichocka 2023). All espouse a form of populism: the idea that they enjoy the united support of the true nation, whereas opponents and critics are enemies of the people. All identify a favored ethnic and/or religious majority as the authentic country and its rightful rulers.

All favor aggressive state economic interventions while favoring allied businesses and industries (and making money from these alliances). All prefer splashy infrastructure projects to providing consistently decent public services. To be generous, we could say that they each “see like a state” (Scott 1998). And they all use a similar toolkit. They don’t cancel elections or openly suspend (most) constitutional rights but rather prosecute opponents and use economic pressure against the producers of speech: publishers and universities (Levitsky & Ziblatt, 2018).

As for the differences:

Modi represents a century-old effort to establish Hindu supremacy in India. Islamophobia is central to this project (Bhatia 2024). It already inspires regular violence, and it has the potential to spark vast destruction. Modi’s party and government are disciplined. Their agenda is not only social control or personal profit but also redefining a nation in a way that would exclude 200 million of its citizens.

Erdogan, I think, began by opening Turkish politics and civil society to groups and perspectives that deserved representation, including but not limited to observant Muslims. He made appropriate reforms. He is the kind of leader who should have retired a decade ago, in which case he could now travel the international circuit as an elder statesman with some genuine contributions to his name. Alas, he crossed many bright lines by jailing opponents and crushing opposition, perhaps in part because he sincerely believes that he is indispensable. But his managerial record is now quite poor.

Trump represents political views that he did not invent. He espouses familiar forms of xenophobia, chauvinism, and aggrieved nationalism. But I interpret Trump as more transactional than his counterparts in Turkey and India. For many voters, he offers a deal: better economic outcomes in return for legal impunity, the ability to settle scores, praise and monuments, and lots of sheer cash.

Since Trump’s relationships are always self-interested, they are also relatively fragile. I think an economic downturn would break his implicit contract with voters, lowering his approval by 10 points, and that would make him an increasingly problematic ally for Republican politicians. I can see him being discarded (not necessarily impeached, but rendered a lame duck) in a way that I cannot quite see for the regimes represented by Modi or Erdogan.

Sources: Cislak, A., & Cichocka, A. (2023). National narcissism in politics and public understanding of science. Nature Reviews Psychology, 2(12), 740-750; James C . Scott, Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed (Yale, 1998) Stevnb Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, How Democracies Die (Crown 2018), and Rahul Bhatia,, The New India (Abacus, 2025)

on the current crisis

Posted on April 25, 2024 by Peter

Almost every day, I am in conversations about protests on US college campuses. Some of these encounters take place at Tufts (in committees or one-on-one with students and colleagues), but I have also been part of discussions at Stanford, Harvard, and Providence College, and in DC–just to mention events during April.

In decades past, I would have posted frequent reflections here. These days, I am relatively quiet. I hear the argument that people in positions like mine should speak out more. I think I disagree, for four reasons.

First, although taking positions can be appropriate, or even obligatory, it can create challenges if one wants to facilitate open discussions in settings like classrooms or if one wants to advise and help people who have divergent views. I am privileged to receive requests for advice from people with almost the full range of positions on Israel/Palestine, and my interpretation of my own professional role is that I ought to try to help them all.

Second, I often find myself wrestling with what individuals have said in various settings. Sometimes I am moved, challenged, and educated, and sometimes I am somewhat appalled. However, these tend to be confidential statements that are not suitable for public assessment.

Third, although I believe that everyone has a right to form and express opinions, there is also value in talking when you have a solid basis for your views and listening when you don’t. Restraint is especially important for people in my kind of position (as a full professor and associate dean)–people whose opinions may have more weight than they deserve. Just because I teach Civic Studies does not mean that anyone needs to listen to me about Israel/Palestine.

Fourth, there are other people who should be heard: those whose views are well-informed, complex, and challenging in various ways. I feel an obligation to find and share those voices but not to compete with them. (Just as one example: “Najwan Darwish on living in doubt.”)

For whatever it may be worth, my views on Israel/Palestine would probably align best with “What being pro-Palestine means to me / my platform” by Ahmed Fouad Alkhatib. He is sharply critical of both Hamas and the Israeli government. My views on campus speech and civil disobedience are libertarian, with a strong tilt toward countering speech with speech instead of banning or punishing it. (And yes, that does also apply to really nasty speech.) In thinking about movement tactics and strategy, I’d go back to Bayard Rustin’s “From Protest to Politics” (1965). I’d interpret nonviolence not as a set of restrictions (i.e., don’t cause physical harm) but as a powerful repertoire of strategies that can accomplish political goals while increasing the odds that the activists themselves will be wise. (Please join this summer’s Frontiers of Democracy conference for more discussion of that topic.) Finally, I would support efforts to promote dialogue and listening across differences, but not to the exclusion of adversarial rhetoric, which is also essential in a democracy.

The previous paragraph was something of a disclosure, and I will regret making it if it discourages people who disagree with any of it from engaging with me.

The post on the current crisis appeared first on Peter Levine.

youth views of Israel/Palestine

Posted on February 16, 2024 by Peter

CIRCLE has published detailed data on young people’s views of the current war in the Middle East. I’ll share two graphs, but I recommend their whole document.

First, compared to older generations, young Americans are much more likely to perceive genocide in Palestine (almost 50% agree that it’s happening) and to support an immediate ceasefire.

Second, young Americans are split on whether to sympathize more with Palestinians or Israelis and are divided about US support for Israel. There are differences by race and ethnicity: white youth are least critical of Israel; Asian/Pacific Islander youth are most critical. To my eye, these differences are not very large–particularly between white and African American youth–and the disagreements within each demographic group are more notable.

(By the way, not being sure what to think of this issue seems understandable–for anyone, and especially for someone who is young.)

Whether and how young people will vote in the 2024 election is certainly not the only relevant or important question. That said, political scientists generally doubt that Americans vote on foreign policy issues; and in 2022, according to CIRCLE, just 4% of young Americans named foreign affairs among their top three issues. But in this cycle, as many as 82% of young people are naming foreign policy. I agree with CIRCLE that many young Americans may be “viewing this conflict through a different lens” and, in particular, seeing it as continuous with domestic US issues regarding race.

Najwan Darwish on living in doubt

Posted on October 20, 2023 by Peter

(Translated by Kareem James Abu-Zeid, from Najwan Darwish, Exhausted on the Cross, NYRB Books 2021.)

I don’t know the Arabic word that is the title of this poem. The English word can mean a logical fallacy–changing the meaning of a term between one part of an argument and another–or a deliberate trick. Macbeth calls a promise “that lies like truth” “th’Equiuocation of the Fiend.”

Deceit is a fault, but equivocation can also imply an inability to decide, or even a choice to remain undecided, like Keats’ “capab[ility] of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts. …” One can equivocate because several options seem attractive, or because all seem terrible.

I read Darwish as self-critical. He is confessing his equivocation, his failure (sometimes) to take a stand, much as, in “In Shatila,” he asks himself how he could have turned smilingly away from an old refugee:

How could you smile, indifferent
to the brackish water of the sea
while barbed wire wrapped around your heart?

How could you,
you son of a bitch?

But what should be expected of him? At a time when everyone is supposed to take one side, to state one truth–when we are all our own communications departments, and silence is called complicity–I resonate with the poet’s equivocation. His uncertainty becomes a doubt about who he is, and that doubt becomes the country he dwells in, wherever he goes. It’s the only country he has.

(By the way, I have no idea whether Darwish feels equivocal today, and I don’t mean to attribute any stance to him in this moment. The poem is several years old. It does speak to me today.)

the post-9/11 wars and Trump

Posted on April 21, 2023 by Peter

The image that accompanies this post is my graph of US counties.* The y-axis is Trump’s share of the vote in 2016. The x-axis is the percentage of each county’s population that consisted of veterans under the age of 45 in 2020. I chose that statistic as a rough proxy for direct involvement with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The correlation is modestly positive and statistically significant.

When I ran a regression to predict Trump’s 2016 vote in each county based on 1) the proportion of young veterans, 2) the degree to which the county is rural, 3) the proportion of the county that is non-Hispanic white, and 4) the proportion of the population that was born overseas, all of those variables except the last one were statistically significant and positive. That means that, after controlling for race and community type, the proportion of young veterans still predicts the Trump vote.

This is merely a cross-sectional relationship, and it would be worth introducing a temporal dimension by investigating whether and how votes changed as the post-9/11 wars unfolded.

The pattern that I show here is compatible with several hypotheses. For example, maybe some communities’ cultures and demographics inclined them both to military service and to supporting Trump, or maybe deep disillusionment with the wars turned some people toward Trump in 2016 because he purported that he had opposed US involvement.

I will not claim that the basic relationship shown here is very strong, and I share it mainly for full disclosure rather than to support an argumentative position. (I wouldn’t try to use the regression as the basis of a professional article.) Yet I continue to suspect that blowback from two protracted military disasters is one cause of our current political discontents.

Americans’ assessments of these wars are filtered through ideology and probably fall into at least three categories:

The invasion of Iraq was imperialistic and intended to favor multinational corporations; thus it was unjust from the start.
The invasions were altruistic, aimed at exporting human rights and democracy; and as such, they wasted US lives and resources. OR
The defeats represent corruption or decadence that must be addressed by making the USA “stronger.”

Any of those views is compatible with deep distrust of US elites, and perhaps above all of Democratic Party leaders who supported the wars. Meanwhile, MAGA Republicans benefit from both 2 and 3.

*The graph doesn’t display about a dozen outlier counties that have very high veteran populations. See also the 2020 election in the shadow of the Iraq War; the impact of post 9/11 war on our politics, etc.

Peter Beinart interview on anti-Semitism and Middle East politics

Posted on October 15, 2021 by Peter

This is the video of yesterday’s conversation with Peter Beinart at Tufts:

I asked him:

What do you think is the relationship (if any) between rising anti-Semitism and rising criticism of Israel?
When is criticism of Israel anti-Semitic, and when isn’t it?
Is it important that we have dialogue about Israel/Palestine in places like Tufts? Why? What would be trying to accomplish?
In Jewish Currents in July, you wrote, “In mainstream American discourse, the word ‘anti-Palestinian’ barely exists. It is absent not because anti-Palestinian bigotry is rare but because it is ubiquitous. It is absent precisely because, if the concept existed, almost everyone in Congress would be guilty of it, except for a tiny minority of renegade progressives who are regularly denounced as antisemites.” Can you expand on that statement and talk a little more about why you focus on anti-Palestinian prejudice here, apart from Islamophobia or anti-Arab prejudice?
What should non-Jews know about Judaism to engage appropriately in civic life?
What is your own position on Israel/Palestine now, and how did you get there?
What would a one state solution look like? How would the state be organized?

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